


Clinch

by Luxicorde



Series: FFXIV Write 2020 [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Horror, House Linoir, Ishgardian politics, Psychological Torture, tagging just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:49:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26310661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luxicorde/pseuds/Luxicorde
Summary: Antoine de Linoir is not a man to be trifled with.
Series: FFXIV Write 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906447





	Clinch

**Author's Note:**

> Writing for Antoine so soon after I said I would? _me_? Who would have thought. But that means I actually wrote for the four people in the main party, so I can't complain.

“P-please ser, my master is a very very busy man, he should not be disturbed-”

“He will see me here and now or later in court!” Ser Fraiser shoved the lump of a man aside, storming down the main hall of the manor -- if one could even call it that -- towards the viscount’s study. There was hardly any light in the damn place, the corridors being lit by a few pale candles that were too high off the ground to reflect in the black marble floors. Every now and then the candlelight would glint off of the silver door handles, almost as if to beckon him in. The lump kept pace with him, still pleading with him to turn back, doing anything he could to slow Ser Fraiser’s stride short of touching him. 

The end of the hall was finally in sight after what seemed like half a bell of stomping, two candelabra framing the massive ebony doors and their silver lilies. Ser Fraiser didn’t bother with knocking, yanking the doors open as the lump dropped to his knees, stammering out an apology as best he could. 

“I-I’m sorry sir, p-please forgive-”

“There is nothing to forgive, Defforain. Would you please bring me and my guest a glass of wine?” Ser Fraiser stopped in his tracks for a moment, hearing the booming voice of the newest Viscount Linoir and feeling a blast of heat like dragonfire as the doors fully opened. There was certainly more light in the study, but it was anything but inviting. A roaring fire behind the desk, casting the long shadow of this “Antoine.” Papers were neatly stacked on the desk itself, with Antoine not bothering to spare him a glance as he continued with the stack presently in front of him. 

Ser Fraiser paused to take it all in as Defforain rushed off back down the hall, but he didn’t stop for long. A proud member of House Larrogen would not be cowed by a bit of smoke and mirrors!

But as soon as he was past the threshold, behind him the doors slammed shut.

“Please, take a seat Ser Fraiser.”

He didn’t have time to turn around before the scraping of a chair across marble began, and he didn’t have time to move before said chair slammed into the backs of his knees, dragging him towards the viscount whether he liked it or not. When the chair stopped in front of the desk, he realized two things: one, that the ‘long shadow’ had not been a trick of the light but purely because Antoine was _massive_ , and two, that he was a _lizard_. One of the dragon-people from across the sea that called themselves au ra. No wonder he never showed his ugly face in public.

Being this close to the fire, the heat was more than just a little uncomfortable, causing Ser Fraiser to sweat. Antoine’s gaze didn’t help, a piercing, glowing blue even with most of his face obscured. He hadn’t noticed before, but the lizard’s horns curled around his head and down by his jaw, allowing them to hide in the silhouette. 

“I understand that you wished to talk about my brother’s recent trial.” His gaze returned to his papers, while his hand almost lazily wrote and signed what looked like a report before he moved it to one of the other stacks. “You should know, then, that as the one who challenged his honor, he secured his freedom through a trial by combat.”

Behind him, one of the doors creaked open, just enough for the lump to scuttle through and hand Antoine a glass of wine, and set one on the far end of the desk for Ser Fraiser. He was gone as soon as he came, leaving with a bow and gently closing the door behind him. 

“That ‘trial’ was a load of goobbue shite! I saw him with my own two eyes burying a corpse in the highlands!” He’d never felt more _insulted_ or _humiliated_ than after that trial. Him, a son from a higher house than this rat’s nest, with an eyewitness account of that whoreson dumping some poor soul’s body into a shallow grave with not even a stick to mark their final resting place, only to be told he had to abide by the laws of a trial by combat. And then, in the actual trial, that bastard had used some sort of black magic to win, making him so feeble he couldn’t move in his armor. If the judge hadn’t called him off, there would have been nothing stopping Adamas from picking up the sword he had dropped and serving as his executioner.

“Tread carefully, Ser Fraiser. If he was declared innocent, who are we to question the will of the Fury?” His voice had the same booming tone as when Ser Fraiser had first opened the doors, and he could feel it reverberating in his bones. This was just another black magic trick, and he expected nothing more from House Linoir. He felt the anger bubbling up inside of him. How dare this, this _lizard_ disrespect him? He was probably an accomplice to begin with! Small wonder that he didn’t show up to his own brother’s trial.

Ser Fraiser jumped to his feet, smacking the wineglass that was presented across the table, spilling it across the papers Antoine. “To hells with your ‘trial’! It was all a farce and I demand an apology from your house to mine for this ignominy!” It felt good to yell at him, to ruin the papers he refused to look away from. “And as a dravanian, I demand you step down from viscount and give the position to an Ishgardian.”

That smugness quickly turned back to anger, as Antoine seemed mildly annoyed at most. With a wave of his free hand, the glass returned to where it was, and the wine pulled itself from both his clothes and the stacks and landed neatly back in the glass with hardly a ripple. “I would ask that you refrain from such outbursts in the future, Ser Fraiser.” Antoine still wouldn’t look at him, going back to his papers and placing his latest one in another stack. 

Ser Fraiser slammed his hands down on the desk, rattling the glass and causing Antoine to lose his place with his pen, casting an ugly black line across the lower half. “I will not be disrespected by some occult-worshiping lizard! If you do not show me some respect I swear I will- I will…”

He backed down as Antoine started to rise, the whole room growing dark as he was enveloped in the man’s shadow. Even by elezen standards, Antoine was _tall_ , and Ser Fraiser was no elezen. He felt as a child standing before him, and it felt like a nightmare when the room seemed to close in, his vision narrowing down to only Antoine’s eyes. They were slitted, just like a dravanian’s, and he felt as if he would be burned to a crisp if he stood there and stared long enough. Everything was dark around him, but the fire had never felt hotter. 

“Let me make something very, _very_ clear, Ser Fraiser,” Antoine’s voice was suffocating, making him feel like his brain was rattling in his skull. “I will tolerate your insults, but I will not tolerate your _slander_.” It suddenly felt very hard to breathe, as if the air was getting so hot it was burning his lungs. “I will overlook this, as you clearly do not know how to handle yourself in courtly affairs, but I will neither apologize nor step down.” Heat turned to smoke, and soon enough he was choking on it, grasping for the chair or the desk, anything to keep himself steady but finding nothing. He couldn’t keep himself up, yet he couldn’t fall over, feeling frozen in place. “I will tell you a secret about your house, if you are so keen to keep the topic _slanderous_ ,” he could feel more than hear Antoine moving, his breath hot against his ear. “It was your house that brought me to Ishgard as a slave, and it was your house that sold me to the late viscount.” There was a rush of images, _memories_ he realized, that weren’t his. Children in cages, chained, fires, brands, screaming. 

“I will make you a deal, Ser Fraiser,” at the sound of his name, it felt as if something was scratching, digging, _crawling_ into the base of his neck, “You do not have to speak ill of my house, just as I do not have to speak ill of yours. We pretend this meeting was simply for wine and cake, you return home, and I return to my work.” Whatever it was was yanked from his spine, replaced with what felt like molten lead being poured into the hole. He wanted to scream, to cry, beg for it to stop, but he couldn’t breathe through the smoke. 

“Do we have a deal?”

Ser Fraiser caught his breath enough to croak out a ‘yes’, terrified of what would happen if he refused. As soon as he spoke, he found himself back where he started; hands pressed on the desk, the fire raging behind Antoine as he continued his reports, idly sipping from his glass of wine with his free hand. He ran for the doors, stopping just as he was about to reach them.

“Remember, Ser Fraiser. Wine and cake.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fourth part in the ffxivwrite 2020 challenge, and it's a good thing that 24-hour deadline won't go into effect for a few more days.


End file.
